The Liger Plague (Book 1) (21 page)

They waited until the men were far enough away before they made their way down the stairs. They hid behind some parked automobiles and then crept alongside them so as not to be seen. The seven gang members were heading down the street and toward the island’s main beach. The men did not appear to see them, and by the time they made their way to the beach, Tag could see a crowd of poxers standing about in the sand. Others waded in the water or sat atop rocks, looking confused and disoriented. There must have been over a hundred of these sick people shuffling around.

The three of them leaned against a car and waited to see what would happen. Tag instructed Fez and Versa to keep as quiet as possible. He peeked over the top of the hood and observed the men’s movements. What he saw made him cringe. The late afternoon sun had completely blinded the infected and caused them to stagger around aimlessly. Red blisters covered much of their bodies. Brilliant whiteheads appeared at the apex of the blisters, glistening like diamonds in the sun. Tag knew from epidemiology studies that these crusty white pimples were like nuclear warheads filled with lethal viral packets. Once they broke, they would release millions of smallpox spores into the air.

He passed one of the guns over to Fez.

The men stood a good fifty yards from where the infected people dotted the beach. They lifted their bandanas and smoked cigarettes, pointing down toward the poxers and laughing. Tag looked for his family among the infected, but couldn’t recognize any of them because of the extent of the scarring. He did observe, however, that many of these poor people had lost fingers and/or had large bite marks gouged out of their leathery skin. Those wading in the water dunked their entire bodies in the cold Atlantic Ocean, letting the salty water soothe their painful wounds. He wondered if the extreme salinity of the water caused them pain or provided them comfort. Others sat around chewing on their arms, gnawing away at their upper and lower lips, or pulling teeth out of their mangled gums. He even saw one woman peeling away the outer crust of the blistered skin along her face as if it was a mask. The sight of her exposed, raw face nearly made him sick.

A fight broke out between two of the infected. They fought like savage animals, biting and tearing into each other until one fell back on the sand, covered in bite marks and spilling infected blood. Because of their blindness, the other man staggered away in the opposite direction, wailing in agony. The collective cacophony of the poxers’ screeching sounded like a herd of beached seals in distress.

Then something strange happened. The people on the beach lifted their heads and sniffed the air. As if in a trance, they moved in the direction of the seven men smoking cigarettes and laughing. Tag was confused. How could they walk toward the men if they couldn’t see them? The diseased cried out in agony, trying to communicate, seeming to plead with the men for help.

The men threw down their butts and then rearranged the bandanas around their faces to keep from breathing in the virus. The leader of the group, the one the others deferred to, pulled out his gun and pointed it at one of the approaching poxers. The others followed suit. Tag held his breath, wondering if they would actually shoot these poor people in cold blood or if they were merely trying to scare them off.

He ducked back behind the car and pulled the Saiga off his back, then raised his head over the hood and pointed it at the leader of the gang.

The poxers continued to stumble through the thick sand, barely able to raise their feet high enough to walk through it. The leader, a guy with long, shaggy hair, raised his gun at the poxer closest to him. He fired a shot, shooting the poxer between the eyes. The infected man’s head exploded from the immense pressure inside the skull. Thick, dark blood sprayed out in every direction. In a matter of seconds the others opened fire, dropping the diseased as they approached. Tag couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. The men could have easily walked away. Instead they chose to slaughter them. One of those poxers could have been his wife or daughter. Tag watched a young girl take a bullet to the heart and collapse to the sand.

“Put your weapons down!” he shouted over the car’s hood.

The men turned to see where the voice was coming from.

“Who are you? Why you hiding over there, boss?” the long-haired guy asked, smiling.

“Never mind who I am. Why are you shooting these people when they’ve done you no harm?”

The poxers on the beach continued to make their way toward the men.

“These sick fucks are spreading their disease far and wide, bro. It’s medieval shit, like the Black Plague. If we don’t waste them now, then we’ll all catch it. Come and join us.”

“You should have walked away from here and hid out until this thing burns out.”

“Fuck that shit, man. I ain’t holing up in some goddamn shack like a sitting duck, waiting for these sick bitches to attack us.”

“I got a little boy here says you took his parents.”

“Hey, if his folks was sick with the disease, then I probably wasted them too. Look, asshole, we’re stuck on this crappy island with savages trying to attack us. What do you expect me to do? Let them kill me?” He laughed.

Tag could hear Fez sobbing behind him, but he didn’t have time to console the kid at the moment. The other infected people on the beach continued to make their way toward the men. Tag debated what to do. He could either shoot the poxers or fire at this group of men, but he had to make a decision soon.

“Put the gun down and walk away.”

“Fuck you, man.”

The first of the infected staggered within ten feet of the men. The long-haired man raised his gun and, without even looking, shot the poxer in the head as if to say
What do you think of that
?
Then the same man swiveled around and fired a round at Tag. The bullet hit the windshield, shattering it. Bits of glass rained over him, Versa and Fez, and showered down over their heads. Tag gripped the Saiga, his back up against the car’s door, listening to bullets pinging off the metal.

“Good God almighty, Colonel!” Versa cried out, tucking the boy’s head into her chest. “Fine mess you’ve gotten us into now.”

“What did you expect me to do?”

“Stop worrying about hurting these scumbags’ feelings and start blasting away. This ain’t a block party.”

Tag waited until the bullets stopped ripping into the car’s metal. He could tell by the sound of the ballistics that they were now firing into the poxers. Having served in combat, he knew what he needed to do. Versa was right—he needed to treat this situation as combat. He counted down from three and in one motion rose up over the hood and fired the Saiga. The bullet struck the long-haired man in the shoulder. The man dropped the gun and collapsed to the ground, clutching it with his left hand and shouting for the others to open fire. Tag waited a beat to see what the others would do as the first group of poxers approached.

“Unless the rest of you want to end up like your friend, I suggest you drop your weapons and walk away as fast as you can!” Tag aimed the rifle at the next member in line, a muscular black guy with a thick beard.

“Where we gonna go?” one of the men replied. “This whole island is crawling with them!”

“Go find an abandoned house to hole up in until this crisis is over. Make sure you have no contact with anyone.”

“Nah, man,” the huge black guy said, shaking his head and pointing his gun at him. “Them houses prolly got the bug inside them too. Then we be breathing in this nasty shit and turning into one of these devils. Nah, I’ll take my chances out here, man.”

“I’m giving you ample warning to get the hell out of here. And I promise, I won’t give you a second chance.”

Three of the infected set upon the fallen leader and began to tear away his flesh. Still conscious, the man screamed in agony. The black guy turned on his heels and shot at the poxers ravaging his friend’s body. Tag peered through the scope and fired a round before the man had a chance to shoot again. The bullet tore through the black man’s hand, kicking the gun out of his grip. Blood poured from the wound, and he howled in pain, jumping up and down in agony. Tag pointed the Saiga at the next guy in line. The five other guys rushed over and escorted the injured black guy off the beach. Tag followed them through the scope and saw them heading toward the northern tip of the island, along Atlantic View Road and toward the neighborhood where the fishermen and locals lived.

Certain that all the men had fled, the three of them walked over to where the poxers had gathered over the dying man’s body. Tag couldn’t believe that they were eating him alive.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Versa said, staring at the man still kicking and screaming. “And there’s more of them poxers headed in our direction.”

“Maybe those guys were right. Maybe we should kill them before they kill us,” Fez said, pointing his gun at one of the poxers staggering toward them.

“Of course we should kill them. They’re not even human no more. They’re savages and have no souls,” Versa said.

“They’re still human beings no matter how sick they are,” Tag said, trying to maintain his composure. “We can’t go around randomly killing everyone on the island that’s become infected. Besides, some of them might be members of our own families.”

“Hell if we can’t, Colonel, especially if they try and kill us first,” Versa said.

“Listen,” Fez said, “them poxers are trying to say something.”

The others struggled to make their way over to his group. He could plainly see that they had stripped off all their clothes in order to avoid what must have been the painful chafing of scabs against their clothing. Even their genitals appeared swollen and blistered, practically unrecognizable. Their eyelids were pressed shut in order to avoid the painful glare of the sun, yet they could still smell, evident by their tipped heads and flaring, swelled nostrils. He raised the rifle and warned them to stay back, but they continued to shuffle forward. Their brains had become so racked with the virus that they couldn’t think in a rational manner, reduced to the basest animal instincts. He heard a strange utterance that sounded remotely familiar to his ears.

“Please help us!” a woman cried, the words garbled because of her blistered tongue. Tears slid down her hideously scarred face, which was half-covered in blood.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing we can do for you,” Tag replied, staring at her in shock.

“The light hurts my eyes.”

“What happened to your fingers?”

“Something bad is happening to me that I can’t explain. My body feels foreign to me, as if my hands are enemies trying to kill me. My brain is telling me to rip myself and other people to shreds. God help me.”

“So you went and chewed off your fingers?” Versa said in disgust.

“I need to find my husband and three kids. Please, I beg you to help me!” she cried, stepping forward.

Tag felt terrible for the woman, but what could he do? He had his own family to worry about as well as Fez and Versa. It occurred to him that these poxers were not entirely without reason. Something insidious had occurred inside their brains that was causing them to attack themselves and others, and this impairment resulted in severe personality swings the likes of which included violence, impulse disorders and extreme emotional responses. The victims of Lesch-Nyhan syndrome acted completely normal until the impulse swept over them and they lost control. Then they attacked and self-mutilated with a terrible vengeance.

“We need to go now, ma’am. Hopefully the authorities will arrive soon and take charge of the situation and then get you the help you need.” Tag felt terrible lying to the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Judy. Please find my three little kids and take care of them.” Tears snaked down her blister-covered cheeks. “Their names are Paul, Deenie and Kate.”

“Your best bet is to stay here on the beach and lay low. Bathe in the salt water as often as possible.”

“It hurts so bad. I feel like ripping the scabs off my body. And I’m so thirsty and hungry, even though my mouth is full of blisters.” She stumbled blindly toward him. “Do I look hideous?”

“We’re leaving now, Judy. Turn around and head back to the beach,” Tag said, gathering Versa and Fez together and herding them back up toward the street.

He hadn’t the heart to tell the woman how she really looked: like a monster. Even if she did manage to evade serious infection and blood loss, the physical scars left by this pox would psychologically haunt her for a long time to come, constantly reminding her of the horrific outbreak. But much worse would be the mental anguish of losing her husband and three children. The post-traumatic stress would stay with her for a lifetime. Tag even considered for a brief moment whether the woman had possibly attacked her own kids and, God forbid, consumed them.

He hustled Fez and Versa up the street. The thought of Monica and Taylor turning into those wretched souls scared the hell out of him. Having smallpox would be difficult enough, but to come down with this insidious brain virus on top of it would be a devastating life changer.

Chapter 16

Once they started moving, they were able to sweep through the homes at a much more efficient clip. Versa and Fez waited downstairs in the appointed house, flashlight in hand, while Tag bolted upstairs to see if he could locate Monica and Taylor. All it took was a quick, peremptory search in order to determine whether his family was inside. Using one of the spare flashlights they’d found in one of the closets, Tag temporarily disabled the infected before moving on.

They cleared the first ten streets on the grid but still found no trace of his family. Exhausted, they rested on a retaining wall for a quick breather. Tag admired his two partners’ stamina and bravery. They didn’t have to help him, yet they did out of the goodness of their hearts. Tag lifted his water bottle and took a slug. The warm water hit the spot.

He passed some protein bars over to Versa and Fez and then tore one open for himself. The sun had started to set in the west. Pink clouds glowed off in the distance, reflected in the calm waters of Casco Bay.